Heart of Fire
by Wildfire Dragon
Summary: Sansa and Sandor story, inspired by a Feast for Crows.
1. Chapter 1

Heart of Fire

Sansa/Sandor

Before the Battle of the Blackwater Rush, changes the events. No copyright infringement intended.

Sansa Stark stood before her looking glass and examined the dress her maid had picked out for her. It was grey, the colour of Winterfell and House Stark with pearls inlaid on the collar and cuffs. It was almost two inches too short for her, her bosom was tight across her chest and she felt exposed.

"Isn't there anything else?" she sighed and her maid shook her head. They weren't allowed to speak to her, on orders of Queen Cersei, the mother of her husband to be. Joffrey would not be pleased with her gown, he hated to be reminded of the traitor blood she bore in her veins. Her maid finished lacing her into the gown and Sansa tucked a stray strand of hair into the hairnet her mother had given her before she had left Winterfell. It was inlaid with mother of pearl chips and glinted whenever the sun caught the stones. She pulled a thick brown woolen cloak over the dress and waited for a member of the Kingsgaurd to fetch her. She hoped it would be Ser Borus, he was one of the few who still held a scrap of honour, refusing to beat her when Joffrey commanded it. The knock came. When Sansa opened the door she found the Hound waiting for her, the White Cloak of the Kingsgaurd hanging awkwardly from his shoulders. His features were locked into an expression of anger and he motioned for her to follow him. Sansa complied, ignoring the looks she received from the knights in the Courtyard and the whispers that followed her wherever she went. She was not well loved in King's Landing, the daughter of a traitor and another mouth to feed while the poor went hungry. She hurried her pace to match the Hounds and felt her heart skip a beat as he placed his hand protectively on the small of her back. She looked up at his hideous face and felt herself shivering in fear. She had tried many times to convince herself that some scrap of good still remained in Sandor Clegane but she had been unable to find it.

"Why so scared little bird? I won't be the one to hurt you today." he mocked, removing his hand from her back and fingering his sword. Sansa held herself still but followed as he resumed his fast pace towards the King's chambers. Ser Boras was on guard duty and he gave her a timid smile as she approached the door. She could hear Joffrey within, discussing loudly with his councillors. Sansa wondered what she had done to merit an invitation.

"Welcome Sansa. Won't you sit with me and my councillors?" her betrothed rushed to meet her as the door opened and she and the Hound stepped through. The council chambers were cold, the windows flung open to admit the crisp autumn air. Sansa felt glad she had decided to pull on a cloak. Joffrey offered her a cup of sweet wine and she sat nervously in the seat beside her husband-to-be. Maps were spread across the table, spear points marking the points of the major armies. She wondered which one was fronted by her brother Robb, the self crowned King of the North. She felt a small twinge of hope as she considered the map. Joffrey as if reading her thoughts, pointed to a dagger by the coast.

"Your brother Robb is leading a raid on this port. He is collecting supplies. We plan to cut him off from the rear and lead an assualt. I shall bring you your brothers head as a wedding gift." Joffrey promised with an evil glint in his eyes. His blonde hair was freshly washed and brushed and shone like spun gold. Sansa could remember a time when she had felt compelled to lace her fingers through that hair, a time long ago when she had considered Joffrey a true knight. Now she found herself looking towards the Hound as she replied courteously, her face masking her emotions. Joffrey would be displeased, he was eager for a reaction but Sansa found herself lost in the burnt flesh that scarred half of Sandor Clegane's face. He was watching her warily and she could feel the tension that crept through his muscles, forcing him to stand straight instead of slouching away from her gaze. The next thing she knew, she lay on the floor, her belly aching. Ser Meryn stood above her, his fist clenching and unclenching as he regarded her lying there, his cold eyes emotionless. She could hear Joffrey's laughter and the timid laughter of his councillors. Only the Hound did not laugh as she picked herself carefully up from the floor and dusted herself down. She felt defiance rise in her and she reached for the fastener of her cloak and pulled it free, the grey dress revealed beneath. Joffrey drew in a shocked gasp and Ser Meryn's fist found her stomach again, her muscles aching with fire as his blow connected. She could hear protests from within the room, whispered comments and she knew that Joffrey's face which she had once found so attractive, would be painted a vivid crimson at her defiance. She felt herself smiling.

Soft arms picked her from the floor and carried her back to her chambers. Ser Meryn had finally been commanded to leave her be, after the third blow had sent her scrambling into the corner, her hair dangling loose from her hair net and her dress torn to reveal her budding breasts. The cloak had been used to cover her modesty as her eyes flickered and attempted to adjust to the light. She was being carried up the stairs to her chambers and the face above her was flickering in the light from the torches. She could see the fire in his eyes. The Hound carried her as if she were a delicate child, his hands soft around her and for a moment, Sansa forgot how much he loathed her and leaned her face against his stomach, breathing in his musky odor. She heard him drew a ragged breath and she pulled away quickly before anymore blows could fall. He took her into her chamber and sent the maid for hot water, laying her carefully on the bed. Sansa's heart was racing and she couldn't find anything courteous to say.

"Thank you." she whispered and felt the cloak fall from her body as she reached up to caress his face gently. His eyes fell on her breasts and she realised with shock that he desired her. His hand reached down to caress her tender nipple and she felt a moan rise in her throat. His finger was cold as it ran across her milk pale flesh and she felt herself gasping, not quite with pleasure but not without it.

"Don't." the word escaped her lips before she could register its meaning. She wasn't sure if she wanted him to stop but the look on his face made her aware that she had hit her mark. The Hound had returned, as angry as ever.

"Stupid little bird." he muttered angrily, rising from the bed, his white cloak swirling and then he was gone, only the echo of his words remaining.


	2. Chapter 2

Heart of Fire

Sandor's POV

Sandor felt like a fool. He had caressed a high born lady, the betrothed of the King he protected. The White Cloak he wore on his shoulders marked him as a man of honour.

"Honour." he spat, as he saddled up Stranger. He would go in search of a brothel and forget the name Sansa Stark for a night. Forget the delicious paleness of her flesh and how perfect her body had been. He kicked Stranger angrily in the flank and rode through the moon gate, into the deserted city of King's Landing. The smell of fish and waste assaulted his nostrils as he rode through the streets, to the cheaper brothels by the riverfront. The wench he picked was young and lithe, slippery as an eel as he slipped inside her but she made the appropriate noises and he found himself satisfied for an hour. Once he was done, he took himself to a wine sink where he knew the owner and supped on cold stew and cheap wine until he felt himself begin to sink into a stupor. He walked Stranger to the stables of the Red Keep and returned to his chambers. Sandor's chambers were sparse, his window barely more than an arrow slit and his bed was made of hard stone which offered him no comfort. He balled his white cloak into a pillow and before he could contemplate dreaming, he had fallen fast asleep.

He rose as the sun began to creep across his chambers and dressed in boiled leather. He contemplated abandoning his white cloak but knew better. He fastened it around his throat, feeling as though it were choking him and headed to the kitchens to find some breakfast. Normally he would eat in the halls with the gold cloaks but today he felt a need to be alone. Alone with thoughts of his little bird playing in his head. He would steal his song one day he decided and plant a kiss on her soft lips. He wondered what she would do if she attempted to kiss him. Would she scream and call for help or did her willingness yesterday mean something? Sandor wondered if she had been delirious from the beating Joffrey had commanded. He felt ill as he remembered the way she had crumpled as Meryn's mailed fist sank into her stomach. His little bird had looked so fragile and he had felt the weight of her gaze. She was waiting for something, her perfect knight to jump in and save her. Sandor Clegane was not her perfect knight however, surely his little bird knew that by now.

Two weeks passed and the Red Keep watched the approach of Stannis's army with trepidation. Nobody had expected such a huge host, nobody but the Imp, the only person more loathed than Sandor Clegane within the Red keep. He had been a busy little Imp, preparing his chain across the Blackwater river and building three giant scorpions that Joffrey was keen to play with when battle was joined. The Hound had grown tired of the long war councils, the endless days standing in a stuffy chamber without so much as a glimpse of his little bird. He yearned to see her but couldn't explain where the feeling came from. She was a stupid little bird, believing that some knight would rescue her rather than rape her if the Red keep fell. Sandor wondered whether he would be able to protect her or if his little bird knew better by now.


	3. Chapter 3

Heart of Fire

(Original Content used but events have been altered, no Copyright Infringement intended.)

Sansa picked at the food a servant had placed in front of her, feeling awkward and exposed in her seat of honour on the dais. Queen Cersei had sent the invitation and Sansa, terrified to be alone in her chambers during the battle, found herself hastily accepting. The high born wives of lords sat scattered on wooden benches in the Queen's council chambers, almost twice the size of Sansa's own chambers and warmly decorated with tapestries depicting lavish celebrations hanging from the wall. Queen Cersei was tipped forward, her beautiful face pale with fright, a wine cup clutched in her hand. Sansa had never seen the Queen looking quite so dishevelled and she found herself wickedly pleased by the sight. She hoped one of Stannis's fire arrows found its way straight through Joffrey's cruel heart.

She cast an uneasy look towards the far end of the hall where Ilyn Payne, the King's Justice lurked in the shadows. His eyes seemed to bore into her and she felt sweat begin to prickle on her brow. He was not here for her protection she knew. Ice, her fathers great sword was strapped across his back, within easy reach if the battle turned against the Lannisters. Sansa turned her attention to the hall, suppressing the shiver that rose as she thought of the kiss the sword would give her. She forced herself to watch Moon Boy as he cavorted around the hall, attempting to ease the tension. Sansa shivered again as he pointed at her and drew a line across his throat with some of Lady Tanda's soup.

"It will go so much worse for you if the Red Keep falls to Stannis's army. You should be grateful to have been rewarded with a prize as precious as my son." the Queen had turned her venomous gaze on Sansa. She was drunk, her words slurring and her blonde hair tumbling from the elaborate twist at the base of her neck.

"Yes my Lady." Sansa answered politely, telling herself that her courtesy was her armour.

Her sister Arya had never been polite to those above her and she was probably dead for all Sansa knew. The Queen was looking at her, her eyes probing and Sansa forced her face into a mask of serenity. Her anger was bubbling below the surface and she turned her thoughts to the Hound. She felt a blush creeping up her cheeks as she remembered the way his touch had felt, gentle and needy at once and the hate that had lined his face had disappeared for a second and Sansa had seen the true person beneath.

The doors at the bottom of the hall burst open with a bang and Queen Cersei jumped to her feet, losing her balance and clutching at Sansa to remain on her feet. The Hound entered the room, striding forward and brandishing a bloody black flag. The motif was a heart on fire, the stag of Baraethon prancing within.

"The city is safe." the Hound muttered, his pale stormy eyes finding Sansa's own.

"And my son?" the Queen demanded. The Hound turned to her angrily and gestured towards the door where Joffrey stood, discussing his victory loudly with Ser Ilyn Payne. Cersei leapt from the dais and ran to embrace her son. The Hound cast his eye around the high born ladies, most of whom were clutching each other and sobbing loudly. Sansa felt as though she were pinned to her chair. The Hound approached slowly and a mixture of excitement and fear danced within her blood. He had a murderous look in his eyes, bloodlust. He had been denied the chance to join the battle, given the job of protecting his king from stray arrows. It was dull work and Sansa knew how he longed for blood to stain his blade. He approached her chair and swept to his knees before her. Sansa's mouth fell open in shock. He lay his sword at her feet and standing, offered her his arm. The Queen's council chambers were empty except for the two of them and standing gracefully, she accepted the proffered arm. The walk through the Red Keep made Sansa's heart pound painfully in her chest. She could see knights watching her, wondering what such a pretty high born maid was doing with the Hound. Discreetly she peered at him through her lashes. His face was set in a mask of anger, his usual defiant look marking his face. She felt like reaching for him, placing a hand on his broad chest and offering what comfort she could. She ran a finger up his arm slowly and heard his breath quicken.

"Little bird. So bold for such a little bird."


	4. Chapter 4

Heart of Fire

"Aren't you pleased at my victory?" Joffrey gestured at the bloated corpses that clogged the riverfront, resting amongst the charred remains of the shacks the Imp had ordered destroyed. Sansa nodded, unable to fight the sickness that was rising in her belly at the stench that came from the river and the corpses. The wildfire had began to burn out and she could feel sullen glances from the crowd that had gathered behind the royal party. Cersei was being attended in her litter with some new friend but Sansa had decided to brave the fresh air. Joffrey had commanded that she ride beside him, a chance for him to gloat over the victory that belonged to other gallant knights. The rest of the day would be spent welcoming the lords that had surrendered and pledged fealty to House Lannister. Joffrey had also commanded Sansa to attend him during his council. She was not looking forward to the rest of the day and her muscles ached from being astride a horse again.

Finally Joffrey turned his horse towards the Red Keep, ignoring the sullen glances the crowd cast after him. Sansa was glad for the Lannister gaurds that surrounded her, she remembered well what had happened last time the crowd had been discontented. If the Hound had not returned to save her, she would have been killed. She searched the lines for the Hound's beast, a huge horse that he had named Stranger. He was guarding the Queen's litter and trading bawdy jokes with a member of the gold cloaks that Sansa vaguely recognized. She urged her horse into a trot and caught up with Joffrey.

Sansa stood in the gallery of the King's Great hall and watched as Loras Tyrell, the knight who had once given her a rose stepped forward to ask a favour for his help in the battle of the Blackwater. He requested a white cloak which Joffrey granted graciously and begged for Joffrey to take the hand of his sister in marriage. Sansa saw shock flicker across Joffrey's face and the Queen interjected quickly, giving her consent to the match. Sansa realised the Hound was watching her closely, gauging her reaction and she kept her face passive. She watched as Joffrey nodded his head and stood up to receive a flower from Margaery Tyrell. Sansa felt as though she were floating on air, Joffrey had set her aside in view of the whole court, there was nothing that could ruin her day.

"What shall become of Sansa Stark mother?" Joffrey asked loudly and Sansa felt herself jerked rudely back to earth. Joffrey's gaze pinned her to the gallery and she felt herself quiver as curious eyes turned towards her.

"We shall need to make her another match my darling." Queen Cersei answered, her gaze unwavering. Sansa felt as if she were a piece of meat on display.

"I have a match mother." Joffrey proclaimed and Sansa felt herself gasp as Joffrey pointed to a man. The Hound stepped forward, his face twisted in a grimace of confusion.

"Sansa shall marry the Hound."


	5. Chapter 5

Sansa felt herself spinning away from the court, into another dimension where she found herself torn between happiness and deep depression. The Hound. Not exactly the match she had been hoping for. She had always imagined herself betrothed to somebody as beautiful as Joffrey with his spun gold hair and his contemptous green eyes but she knew better now. Beauty didn't always suggest a kind heart underneath. The Hound was watching her carefully, silently. She knew he could tell, the same way he could always tell what she was thinking. She blushed and smiled graciously – courtesy as her armour. It would never let her down, never abandon her. She thought about her brother Robb and wondered what he would say about the match. He would be pleased, she supposed. The Hound was vicious, with a bad reputation but in the Stark family eyes nobody was as bad as a Lannister.

"Your grace." She dropped into a deep curtsy, letting her auburn hair obscure her face from view. If Joffrey knew she was smiling, he would change the match. Who he would propose next was a mystery; as far as Sansa was aware, the Hound had the worst reputation at court. His brother Gregor, although by far the least favourable option was always busy doing the King's work abroad to have garnered such a fine reputation. She raised her head and was glad to find that the court was already shifting its attention to the beautiful Margaery Tyrell who was graciously smiling at the knights who had came forward to pledge fealty to house Lannister.

By the time Joffrey dismissed the court the sun was beginning to set, leaving red streaks of blood across the sky. The air was cold and damp and it was threatening to rain. Sansa lagged behind the high born ladies, feeling inadequate in her hand-me-down dress and unwilling to attract any unnecassary attention. She had decided that she would head to the Godswood and send a small prayer to her fathers gods for their kindness when a cold hand touched the bare flesh at her neck. She shivered and drew sharply away from the cruel touch. She already knew who it belonged to.

"Aren't you going to congratulate me on my wedding?" Joffrey's voice was whiney, demanding, like a small child left without candy. Sansa felt a giddy smile spread across her face as the tantalising thought of freedom floated before her.

"Congratulations Your Grace." She muttered politely, dropping into a curtsy, "I'm sure you shall be very happy together."

"We shall. I assume your match with the Hound proves satisfactory?" Joffrey's sarcastic smile made her stomach crawl but she nodded and smiled, going through every motion he wanted from her. He wanted to see her beg but he would not have the pleasure and his face twisted into a scowl as he realised that he had given her exactly what she wanted.

"The Hound will plant a baby in your belly each year, until you are surronded by lowborn whelps, with barely a penny to rub between you. Then you shall be wishing to warm my bed." He spat, stalking away through the crowd of high born ladies until he reached his betrothed. Sansa watched him kiss her hand and felt sorry for Margaery Tyrell. She might be with the Hound who was ugly on the outside but Joffrey was cruel and heartless and not even Tyrell's innocent beauty would be able to change that.

"May I escort you to your room?" the Hound's voice was gruff, unused to courtesy and politeness. Sansa nodded and linked her arm through his proffered one. They walked in silence, the Hound peering into the sunset and Sansa contemplating the mixed emotions that swirled in her body whenever the Hound touched her. At the door to her chambers she kissed him on his unblemished cheek.

"I'm glad its you." She whispered before shutting the door on his stunned face.


	6. Chapter 6

His little bird was pleased in their match, the news should have provoked something within the Hound but he found himself numb. Marriage. He had never contemplated the idea, it had always seemed like a prison to him and he could not cage his little bird. He would be as bad as Joffrey if he were to do that. After Sansa had closed the door, he gazed out of the arrow slit onto the Red Keep. It was bustling with activity but he did not want to join the festivities. He found himself to be in a murderous mood and he turned to face Sansa's door. He knocked firmly. The guard had not showed up, she was alone in her chambers. _His little bird, all alone._

Sansa opened the door. To his surprise she did not look fearful, she looked expectant.

"They've forgotten us in their happiness. That is why the Lannister's will fall." she whispered victoriously. The Hound stepped into her chambers, casting his eyes around the luxury she had been granted despite her status as a prisoner. A cheerful fire burnt in the grate beside a tin bathtub, filled with fragrant water. A luxurious fur pelt covered the floor by Sansa's large bed.

"Where is your maid?" he asked gruffly. His mood had evaporated at seeing her, she seemed to calm him down despite her need to always be courteous. Her words at answering the door had surprised him. The Hound could remember when she'd arrived at the Red Keep, her willingness to sell her family for marriage to a Lannister. Now she was a fugitive, a traitor and nowhere would accept her. The Hound felt cheated in his match, almost as forcefully as Sansa felt. His reputation was already cemented as a single man, a man who enjoyed blood lust and he was betrothed to a traitor.

"She sleeps with the stable boy when she thinks no-one is around." Sansa replied, her face twisting into an expression of fear as she realized the change his mood had taken.

***

Sansa wanted to hide from that gaze, so horrifying was it. The Hound's face was twisted in pain and anger and she was watching the play of emotions across his scarred, horrifying face. Yet despite her fear, she felt excited. She wanted to kiss him, hard and feel him against her, his knight's body so toned and supple. She wanted his hands on her. She stepped forward, ignoring her fear. She had already taken a beating and she was still standing, the Hound could do no worse. He could bruise her and beat her and she'd fight him every step of the way, until he was forced to confess the feelings she knew were there. She reached a hand to his chest and placed it there. The emotions were evident on his face.

"Where you about to take a bath?" his voice was hoarse but gentle. He grabbed her hand and held it firmly in both of his. His eyes appeared confused but when his hands moved to remove her dress, they knew their way around her body and she felt herself shiver in anticipation. She had never been naked before a gentleman and she found herself nervous at the thought. Somewhere deep within she knew that this was not the behaviour of a highborn lady, she was more than a traitor of her family, she was betraying her status but she found it easy to ignore the protests of the voice in her mind. She wanted to feel the Hound. She stepped from her dress and allowed him to strip her of her undergarments until she was naked. She stood shivering in the cold air that swirled around her chambers. She moved her arms to hide her modesty but the Hound stopped her, gazing at her unabashedly. The feel of his gaze against her skin made her self conscious.

"Caress me." she whispered, reaching for his hand. At first he pulled his arm away but the second time she tried, he allowed her to lead his hand to her throat. He ran his finger down the protruding vein that throbbed on her neck until he reached her budding breasts. He found himself feeling strange at having her in control but he did not want to stop touching her silky skin. He led her to the bath and washed her carefully, avoiding touching in between her legs. He did not trust his self control.

"Sansa."

"Touch me my lord. Please." her voice was low, filled with emotion. He found himself wanting to keep asking her to call him "my lord." He reached slowly into the warm water and caressed her skinny legs. He reached in between her legs and touched the downy softness, watching her face change into an expression of pleasure. He had never seen her look so beautiful and flushed and he found his erection straining against his pants. He wanted her, wanted her as he'd never wanted anybody before. She stepped out of the tin bath and he resumed touching her, making her knees buckle and spots appear in her vision. Suddenly she gasped and felt her body collapse in on itself, a rush of wetness coating the Hound's fingers. She watched him carefully as he licked at her juices as her body rode out her climax. Suddenly, she heard a noise on the staircase, the sound of her guard returning.

"Oh no, Joffrey shall hang me from the walls."

"But we are to be married." the Hound whispered. His voice had not recovered its harshness. He draped her cloak around her naked body and bid her climb into her bed.

"Nobody shall know I was here. If they ask, you shall tell them I was disciplining you."

Sansa nodded, disappointed that her fun with the Hound had had to end so abruptly.

"Don't let Joffrey be the first. I would like to wake up in your arms." she whispered her confession and he nodded curtly. He would make sure he was the first to take her. It would be tonight, before they were married and before Joffrey had the chance to steal his little bird away from her.


End file.
